The Dinner
by Fifa
Summary: Eragon and Islanzadí do NOT get along...
1. Chapter 1

The Dinner – Chapter 1

Six months after Galbatorix's inevitable death

Alagaësia's only blue dragon rider was in the middle of Du Weldenvarden, leaning against his favourite tree with a very interesting book open on his lap, and Saphira only a few metres away, half-dozing except for when Eragon needed clarification on the meaning of some word or other.

He was so engrossed in the tale of his own exploits (grossly exaggerated and often completely incorrect) that he barely registered the approach of another person entering his private space. He was so used to Saphira warning him of danger that if she didn't go on full alert, he wasn't bothered.

He also assumed that when the person started talking, it was to Saphira, not to him, so he carried on reading until one word in the one-sided conversation jumped out at him and he recognised the voice of the person talking to him, putting a leaf in to mark the spot he had got up to. So far Durza had just cut off his arm, and Eragon wondered whether he was going to grow it back or quite literally fight off the rest of his enemies single-handedly.

The rider looked up from his book with a bemused look on his face. He'd heard Arya say his name, but was completely clueless as to exactly what she had used it in reference to. He put the book aside and directed his full attention to his mate.

"Eragon, have you even been listening to a word I said?" Arya asked huffily, hands on hips in indignation. Not wanting to offend her, the Dragon Rider nodded earnestly and hastily connected his mind with Saphira's.

_Saphira, what is she talking about? I was reading! She can't expect me to listen while I'm reading, can she? What should I say?_

The dragon craned her head around to look serenely at him. Sometimes Eragon thought that nothing would ever perturb her if she didn't want to be perturbed. Trying to get a negative reaction out of her, without putting himself in danger, was like getting blood out of a stone. _Eragon, just agree to what she says. It will do you no harm._

"So will you come?" Arya asked, having obviously asked him another question while he was talking to Saphira. "Wait, you were chatting with Saphira, weren't you? I can tell. You always get that faraway look on your face-"

"I wasn't!" Eragon denied with a little too much energy. "Of course I'll come."

Arya looked at him like he had grown a second head. "I didn't really expect you to capitulate that easily," she said with a frown. "But I suppose that's okay."

Still wondering whether his autobiography would allow him to regrow his arm, Eragon didn't notice the implied danger in her words. He just wanted to get back to his book.

"I love you," he said with his best loving smile. Arya came over and kissed his cheek.

"Midday three days from now. Don't be late."

_Three days later_

"Eragon, whatever are you doing? You haven't got _time _to go flying today! Don't you remember? You promised you'd come."

Eragon slowly replaced the saddle on its hook and backed away. He had obviously done something wrong, but he had no idea what. He had promised to do something, obviously something important, but for the life of him he didn't know what it could be. But Arya was getting steadily more and more agitated, so under the guise of appeasing her by backing away from the riding gear, he sent his mind crashing into Saphira's.

_What am I meant to be doing today?_

_What am I, your diary?_

_No, sorry, but Arya wants me to do something and I don't know what._

_I know._

_So what is it?_

_You won't like it, _warned the dragon. Eragon grew suspicious, especially since he detected a note of something suspiciously like glee in her thoughts.

_Tell me._

_You're going to visit Islanzadí for lunch today. _Saphira promptly threw him out of her mind and barred him, not wanting to sense his reaction.

Eragon jolted into his own body with a cloud of impending doom hanging over his head. His life had been so good up until now, since the defeat of Galbatorix and having managed to avoid his sort-of mother-in-law for over a month, but now he was going to have to face up to the queen of the elves, listen to her well-aimed jabs at his sanity and pretend he was enjoying the conversations about clothes designing and ruling a people when he was obviously never going to do either. Sometimes he considered the option the elf-woman did it on purpose, just to annoy him. The rest of the time, there was no uncertainty involved – Islanzadí hated him.

His face went pale and he launched himself towards the saddle once more, hoping to grab it and escape through the door before Arya could catch him. The elven queen scared him far more than Galbatorix ever had.

"That's what I thought," said Arya with satisfaction, leaning against the closed door while Eragon looked around wildly for a second exit. He noticed an open window and started climbing up to it when he heard his mate mutter a few words.

The window slammed shut, trapping him inside. He didn't have the presence of mind to try breaking through the wooden walls and just stood, panicky and despairing, in the middle of the tack room, alternately looking left and right, then at Arya, with a pleading look on his face.

"Tell me honestly, in the Ancient Language, when I told you what we were doing today were you actually listening?"

"No! Of course not!" Eragon hyperventilated, his thoughts too scattered to translate his words into the Ancient Language. "Why would I agree to this TORTURE?!?! Your mother _hates my guts! _If you loved me, you wouldn't do this to me."

"Eragon-"

"No Arya, I'm serious. I cannot go. I cannot face… _her._" He stopped moving around and stared intently at the elf, trying to make her understand the extreme pain he would be in if she forced him to do this.

"I suspected this might happen. I brought a nice change of clothes for you, and we are not leaving this room until you have changed into them. If I have to force you to put them on, I will. Then we are going to visit my mother. You have no choice in the matter."

She threw a bag at him, and he caught it on reflex. He was absolutely gobsmacked.

"I-"

"No, Eragon. You nothing. Get changed."

Eragon thought about arguing, but in the back of his mind he was aware that he would have a better chance of escape once he was outside, so he put on the formal clothing Arya had brought him without too much complaint.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dinner – Chapter 2

Eragon tugged nervously at his collar. He hated, absolutely hated, wearing the too-small, starchy clothing that made him look something like an idiot. It was itchy and horrible and… urgh! He shuddered. The trousers made him look like he was a clothes peg, and just as soon as he got the chance, he was going to tear them off. If Arya didn't like it, he didn't care – he'd rather run around half naked than wear these things out in public!

"I'm glad to see you've decided to co-operate," Arya said, oblivious to the thoughts running around his head.

Her words reminded him of the reason for the outfit of doom, and his expression of forlorn discomfort regained its panicked edge. His eyes widened and he started pulling harder at the tight collar. It was like someone had charmed it to get tighter and tighter the more he pulled. He was going to get strangled sometime soon, if he didn't stop.

"Arya, can I _please _undo my top button?" he whined, a plan formulating in his mind. "I'll do it back up as soon as we get to _her _house but I'm practically choking here! Look!" He faked a couple of coughs, pulling his most pathetic face.

His mate did not look amused. She gave him _the look._ The look that said 'really, Eragon, I'm not impressed. You're not choking, so stop complaining.' But Eragon kept the pathetic look up for another five minutes, never taking his puppy-dog eyes off of Arya's face, until finally she relented.

"Fine. Undo it. What do I care?"

Grinning with gleeful triumph, Eragon popped open his top button and reached inside the shirt. He pulled out a religious symbol on a chain, holding it just above the setting so that the whole thing was visible, and yanked it off of his neck, thrusting it towards Arya.

"BEGONE, BEAST OF DARKNESS!!!" he shouted furiously, waving the chain around like it was the most powerful weapon imaginable. "BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE!!!"

"Eragon, what are you doing?"

The Rider paused and drew his hand back a bit. "No burning sensations?" he asked, slightly confused.

"None."

"Oh." He thought about this for a bit, while Arya waited patiently. "It's just, in my autobiography, I fight vampires with a religious symbol and a stake." He held up his other hand threateningly, but the fierce effect was somewhat lost since he didn't actually have a vicious, pointy wooden implement on him. "But- You're not a vampire, are you?"

"No, I'm an elf."

"And you don't believe in any gods, do you?"

"No, Eragon, I'm a strict agnostic. You're very strange, do you know that?"

Eragon looked down at himself, and it dimly registered that his plan had failed and he had made a fool of himself.

Then inspiration struck.

He looked from the chain to Arya and back again. "I'm sorry," he apologised, withdrawing his hand so that it looked like he was giving up. At the last minute, he threw his hand back out, releasing the chain so that it flew straight towards Arya's face.

Not waiting to see if it connected, he pivoted and charged off in the opposite direction, deep into Du Weldenvarden where Saphira was theoretically waiting for their daily flight. He dodged tree in his panic, cursing when he realised that Arya, who had given chase, was gaining on him because the ridiculous trousers hampered his movement.

He yanked a sharp stick off of a branch and desperately started cutting the damn things off while running. There were a few near misses, but he managed to accomplish this feat without drawing blood and speeded up again once he was trouserless. He absently thanked the world at large that he had put on underwear that morning.

He reached the designated meeting point ahead of Arya, only to find that _Saphira wasn't there._

_SAPHIRA! WHERE ARE YOU?_

_Behind you,_ replied the dragon.

Eragon turned sharply, nearly falling over in the process, and took a flying leap onto the dragon's back, landing clumsily and half-falling off, but nevertheless facing the right way and upright, which was an accomplishment.

He had got himself into a semi-respectable position as Arya came into the forest without even the grace to appear out of breath. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked like she was about to start scolding him before she dragged him to her mother's house.

The remnants of his trousers were hung over her shoulder.

One look at the determination on her face convinced Eragon that he was doing the right thing. "FLY, SAPHIRA, FLY!" he shouted, throwing his arms around the dragon's neck in preparation for takeoff.

Saphira didn't move. Arya advanced, and Eragon knew that the end was nigh. "Please, Saphira. I'll do anything. _Anything._"

"Eragon, you look ridiculous." She murmured a word in the Ancient Language, and the trousers repaired themselves. She threw them up at him and he reluctantly caught them one-handed before they smacked him in the face. "Put them back on and get down."

"_Traitor,"_ he whispered to Saphira, climbing down before putting the trousers back on in defiance. All he got as a response was a wave of smug satisfaction, to which he stuck out his tongue.

_Very mature, Eragon._

He ignored her and, with all the dignity he could muster, followed Arya back towards Ellesmera. She wasn't taking any chances, though, and she cast a spell that essentially put a collar around his neck. He couldn't move more than five metres away from his mate in any direction.


	3. Chapter 3

The Dinner – Chapter 3

Eragon refrained from muttering curses under his breath at the cringe-worthy turn in events, but not due to any level of maturity – he knew for a fact that Arya would pick up each individual word with her elven hearing and hold those same individual words against him for all eternity. Boy, could she hold a grudge. He remembered the first and last time he'd ever brought her flowers – she'd burst into tears, healed their roots and replanted them in the garden, and then promptly started screaming at him for killing an innocent living thing.

After that, she hadn't spoken to him for a week.

"You're just going to have to live with it, dear," Arya informed him.

Eragon jerked upright, eyes wide with horror. He was going to have to _live with it? _He was going to have to _live__. _With _it__._ Surely life wouldn't be so cruel? No. He would die before living under the same roof as Islanzadi!

"My mother is an integral part of my life," she continued forcefully, "and we _will _have to visit her from time to time."

Thank god! Arya was referring to the visits, not actually living with _it. _The mate's mother.

Not that that was much better. One hour-long visit was felt like a lifetime of torture, planned in exquisite detail so that with each second the pain multiplied in intensity a thousand times.

But Eragon was not yet resigned to his fate. He spied hope of escape lurking in the guise of a passer-by on the street, trying his best to look unnoticeable and avoid the gaze of everyone he passed.

"MURTAGH!" Eragon shouted.

The red dragon rider flinched and hurried over before anyone else on the road could register that he was there. He was uncomfortable in the public eye as the national prodigal son. Although, only half the population were really welcoming to him to the point of worship. The other half considered him to be a terrifying, dangerous person who was not to be trusted, and were only grateful that for now he seemed to be on their side.

"What?" he hissed, making sure his hood was pulled fully over his face, casting shadows over him. It did nothing to put people at ease that perhaps he wasn't just a monstrous killing machine.

"Eragon…" Arya warned.

"Just five minutes, and an extra five metres for privacy," the Rider pleaded, not forgetting the invisible chain that Arya had transferred to his ankle. He put on his best innocent face and although Arya was suspicious, she couldn't see anything wrong with the request, so she relented.

Murtagh and Eragon moved further away, but Eragon was aware that she could probably still hear him and kept his surface conversation with Murtagh very ordinary-looking.

"So how's things?" he asked, his face a polite mask. _You have to help me, man!_

"Been better. I'm trying to go incognito, ya know?" Murtagh replied pointedly. _With what? You look fine to me._

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. How's Thorn doing?" _The mate's taking me to Islanzadi's place! I'll be killed! Destruction will rain down on me! That woman is pure evil!_

"Still insane." There was a nuance to his voice that told Eragon that Murtagh wasn't just referring to the dragon. Damn him for his wit. _Oh yeah? And what do you want me to do about it?_

"Getting better though, right?" _Maybe help me break through this damn invisible chain around my leg! It's cutting off my circulation!_

"All the time." _Please stop the dramatics._

_I'M NOT BEING DRAMATIC!!!! _"Well that's alright, then. Is he still refusing to talk to Saphira? She's still open about the idea of a dragon heart-to-heart. Or would that be a heart of hearts to heart of hearts? Hmm." _Can't you use a special spell Galby taught you? Break this chain around my neck and I will totally owe you my life._

"Yep, he's not budging. He hates just about everyone at the moment, Saphira in particular because, if you remember, she did bite a foot off of his tail. Give it another month or so and I'm sure he'll be willing to see her, if only to try to kill her."_ You already owe me your life. Besides, I don't know anything like that. What Galbatorix taught me was mainly designed for killing stuff._

"That's good to know."_ NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!_

"See ya later, Eragon."

Murtagh started walking away, and after a furtive glance over his shoulder, Eragon discarded all attempts at subtlety and launched himself at the man, turning him and grabbing onto his lapels and shaking him like a ragdoll. "Please, Murtagh! PLEASE!!!? GODAMMIT HELP ME!!!!!!!!"

Murtagh made eye-contact with someone over Eragon's shoulder and smiled. He took three steps backwards and the chain around Eragon's leg snapped taut.

Eragon was having none of it. He readjusted his grip and held on tight, even as his last hope of escape tried to move away from him. He was lifted off of the ground by his arms and leg, pulled straight between the two. "YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!!!"

Murtagh smiled. He was obviously amused by Eragon's predicament. He reached out one hand and flicked Eragon in the middle of his forehead.

The Blue Rider squealed in outrage and let go of Murtagh, clutching both hands to his forehead and looking at Murtagh accusingly before he realised his mistake and toppled towards the ground head first. His brother left with a jaunty whistle while Eragon lay, nursing his head, as Arya came up to him.

_I hate you,_ he sent to Murtagh as the Red Rider went out of sight.

_Liar._

"Well, Eragon," said Arya with a tight smile. "Shall we continue?"

_I want a divorce._


End file.
